


like petrol soaked paper and fireworks

by lvllns



Series: feathers and stone [3]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Other, Vaginal Fingering, i can't believe i'm posting this yolo i guess, i wanted to write some fluff and mason said 'no', set after book 2 for sure, so now here we are!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvllns/pseuds/lvllns
Summary: “I want you to be comfortable here,” they say, the words muffled by his skin.Mason chuckles. “I am comfortable here.” He does not say that he’s comfortable around them. That they are the key, really, to easing his senses and calming his mind.“Good, because I wouldn’t mind if you were here more often.”
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), NB Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: feathers and stone [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756300
Comments: 9
Kudos: 71





	like petrol soaked paper and fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> listen this got out of hand so fast. i have not edited this yet but whatever! yolo! i'll do it after it's posted because if i think about this for too long i'll chicken out and it'll never see the light of day!

Mason wakes up slowly, eyes blinking open as he takes in his surroundings and realizes a couple things.

First, he stayed the night. Which isn’t surprising, he did tell Sparrow he was going to stay. He made a decision, and that decision was to stay.

Second, he’s alone in bed but the room is pitch black, meaning it’s most likely still night.

He sits up. Stretches until his back cracks. He crawls out of bed and tugs on the pair of dark grey sweats he wore over last night, just getting them barely up over his hips. Part of him still doesn’t believe he left the warehouse in sweats but he had remembered the last time Sparrow caught him in them one morning. How their entire body had stiffened before flooding with heat as their heart picked up. It was worth the knowing grin from Felix to get the same reaction from Sparrow last night.

A quick glance reveals his shirt is missing and his brows furrow. Maybe it got tossed in the living room last night? He smirks. Smothers it with his hand as he rubs his mouth.

Four steps have him at the door but he pauses. Cocks his head and listens. He picks up Sparrow’s heartbeat, steady and calm. So they aren’t awake because of a nightmare then. Mason looks around their bedroom again but finds nothing to provide him with any more clues as to what time it is, and his phone is definitely still in the living room. He remembers leaving it on their coffee table when they crawled into his lap.

When he steps into the hallway, it’s slightly brighter. Not bright enough to cause him to wince, but bright enough that he realizes it may actually be morning.

Turning the corner to the kitchen, he stops walking and wants to both burst into laughter and drag Sparrow back to the bedroom immediately.

They’re standing in the kitchen wearing his missing shirt, the sleeves rolled up to their elbows. All of their freckles are visible, from the galaxies on their cheeks and collarbones, to the splatters like paint on their thighs. A bolt of heat leaps through Mason, and settles low in his stomach. Sparrow isn’t exceptionally tall, six inches shorter than he is probably, so the shirt hangs loose, slips a little off their shoulder, and reveals more of their skin to his hungry gaze.

And then he pulls himself back because they’re currently eating a bowl of cereal over the sink as milk slowly drips from a crack in the side.

Sparrow is frozen, spoon halfway to their lips, hazel eyes wide and strawberry blonde hair messily tied up on the top of their head. A few strands have come loose to frame their face and he wants, very badly, to tuck them behind their ear.

He clenches his hands into fists and resists.

“Why the fuck are you eating out of a leaking bowl?” Mason leans against the wall, arms over his chest, and he flexes a little when he notices their eyes drop to his biceps.

They blink owlishly at him before shoving the spoonful of cereal into their mouth. He can hear their heartbeat, how it picks up just a little. He watches their eyes flicker to his neck, his chest. They drag their gaze _down, down, down_ before it jumps back to his face. A flush begins to crawl across their cheeks, slipping down their neck.

It’s adorable.

Sparrow swallows, and says, “Well, I put the cereal in this bowl, and then when I added the milk it started leaking.”

“I know you have more than one bowl Sparrow,” he says.

“Yes, but then I would have _two_ dirty bowls so I figured I would just eat over the sink,” they say before popping another spoonful into their mouth.

Whatever they’re eating isn’t strong, the scent of it not off-putting like the absolutely horrid bowls of sugar Felix sometimes tries to pass off as cereal. All Mason can smell really is Sparrow. A little bit of vanilla mixed with something green and earthy, similar to cedar. He doesn’t think they showered because there’s still the sharp tang of sweat clinging to them from last night. It takes all his willpower to not smirk.

Then he realizes they also smell a little bit like cigarette smoke, from his shirt most likely because they don’t smoke, and he bats that thought away before it can put roots down somewhere.

Mason rubs his forehead and sighs. “What time is it?”

They hum and reach for their phone. “Almost ten in the morning.”

“I — What?” His brows furrow and he looks at the windows.

The windows that have a dark layer behind their usual bright curtains. Last time he was here the curtains were drawn back, pulled aside to let the sun in, but now they hang and cover the windowsills. Enough light peeks through the sides to illuminate the fact that yes, it is late morning, and he cannot remember when he last slept so long.

He swings his gaze back to Sparrow, who is still calmly eating cereal from the dripping bowl while half-naked in the kitchen.

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“I bought blackout curtains,” they say, one corner of their mouth lifting in a half-smile.

“You bought what?” Mason feels like he’s stumbling behind them, feet tripping over stones and branches, and he can’t quite catch himself. “What?”

Very carefully, Sparrow sets the bowl in the sink, spoon clinking against the ceramic. “I bought blackout curtains.” Their head tilts, and they huff a breath through their nose. “Mason, I wasn’t going to ask you to stay the night if I couldn’t keep the sun from bothering you in the morning.”

He feels rather like someone has clocked him in the jaw or brought a steel beam down on his skull. “You bought blackout curtains...for me?” They nod. “What about your plants?”

Sparrow shrugs. Points at the window. “On the other side of the curtains.”

He steps away from the wall. Moves into the kitchen just one step before stopping. Takes a step back because he doesn’t know where to go or what to do and Nat was right.

Fucking unbelievable, Nat was right. She’s never going to let him live this down.

A bubble of emotion pops under his heart, near the bottom of his ribs, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you alright?” Sparrow’s voice is soft, concerned, and he nods. “You sure? Because you kind of look like Ava threw you into a wall.”

Mason groans. Tips his head back and blows air through pursed lips. “Nobody has...Sparrow.” He looks at them now, as seriously as he can. “Thank you.”

He’s grateful that they say nothing about the way his voice cracks. Their eyes just go soft, a tiny smile on their face. They cross the kitchen to him, wrap their arms around his waist and lean against him. He closes his eyes. Drops his head so he can kiss their temple. Sparrow makes a soft, happy noise, and presses their nose to his chest.

“I want you to be comfortable here,” they say, the words muffled by his skin.

Mason chuckles. “I am comfortable here.” He does not say that he’s comfortable around _them_. That they are the key, really, to easing his senses and calming his mind.

“Good, because I wouldn’t mind if you were here more often.”

He growls then, a rumble that comes from deep in his chest. There’s a moment of intense, visceral satisfaction when Sparrow’s heart skips a beat before it quickens. Anybody else Mason would assume fear. Not them. Never them.

It’s so easy to move his hands. To grip their thighs and lift. They squeak, blush spreading down to their chest, arms winding around his neck. Their legs wrap around his waist, thighs pressing against his hips. He licks a stripe up their throat, from base to jaw, before nipping at the scars Murphy gave them. Sparrow whines, fingers threading through his hair, and he decides he’s been patient enough.

He carries them back to the bedroom, stumbling only a couple times but in his defense, he’s a little preoccupied with the taste of their skin on his tongue. And oh it is good.

So good, he almost walks them into the doorframe.

Sparrow laughs so hard they snort. They attempt to bury their face in the base of his neck to stifle the sound but it hardly matters. Mason chuckles, low and rough, before dropping them on the bed. The noise they make sounds like an offended goose, a loud squawking honk.

They both freeze. Staring at each other with wide eyes, until they break. They fall onto their back giggling and Mason huffs a laugh through his nose. He’s in the middle of kicking his sweats off when he stumbles, catches himself against the wall with a slap of his palm, bows his head between his shoulders, and laughs.

Sparrow is still giggling on their bed. He turns his head to look at them and his breath flees his lungs.

They’re flushed, color high on their cheeks, with tears in their eyes and a smile so wide it has to hurt. The sleeves of his shirt have come undone so their hands are covered. He can just see the fabric of their underwear, hot pink because it’s Sparrow, of course it’s obnoxiously bright.

Just like they are.

Something on his face must change because they blink and melt a little bit.

“What?” His voice is sharper than he means for it to be. He frowns, lip curling as he sneers, before kicking his leg to free it from his sweats.

He doesn’t want to look back at them, worried for the first time he can remember that he may have just blown the mood. Blown whatever has been slowly building between them these past months. But he steels himself. Pivots and finds them still looking at him like he’s...like he’s...Mason doesn’t know but it’s incredibly soft and it does funny things to his heart and he is so very glad Sparrow is not a vampire.

“You look happy is all,” they say.

Then they realize that he’s naked and he watches their eyes drift down his chest to his stomach and lower still.

The increase in their heart rate is a boost to his ego, if nothing else.

But he has plans of his own.

He lets his smirk get a bit suggestive, eyes going half-lidded, and he stalks toward them. They crawl back until they’re leaning against the pillows. Mason rests a knee on the edge of their bed, leans down so he can whisper in their ear, and says, “Shirt off, sweetheart.”

He can feel their throat bob as they swallow.

“Are you gonna give me space?” Their voice shakes a little, heart beating against their ribs like a bird.

He hums. Pretends to think about it while he scrapes his teeth along their body from the joint of their shoulder to the base of their neck. Sparrow inhales, sharp and thin, before twisting themselves around. Offering up more of their neck like it’s nothing. Like they aren’t waving raw meat in front of a predator.

“I think I like crowding you,” he mumbles against their jaw. “I like listening to your heart race.” He kisses behind their ear. “I like how flustered you get, how you blush everywhere.”

“Well you’re going to have to move a little bit if you want me to pull my shirt off,” Sparrow says, their eyebrows lifting.

Mason makes an annoyed sound. Leans back just enough for them to yank their shirt, no his shirt. Well, their shirt now. He rather likes how it looks on them and how they look in it and he makes a note to absolutely leave it behind even if that means walking out of their apartment bare-chested.

They fling the shirt somewhere behind him, hands dropping to the waistband of their underwear but he snatches their wrists in his hands. Squeezes just a little bit before setting them on the bed next to their hips.

Sparrow tilts their head, eyes wide, and blown black. He presses a kiss to the crook of each of their elbows. Moves his mouth down one arm to their wrist. He drags the flat of his tongue from wrist to fingertip before sucking their index finger into his mouth. Glancing up gives him a delicious view of their chest, moving erratically as they breathe. Their mouth drops open when he nips the side of their finger.

They open their mouth, presumably to speak, but Mason bites their hip bone and all they manage is a stuttering gasp. He soothes the sting with his tongue. Drags it across their lower abdomen. Flirts with the band of their underwear and he wants to rip that last layer off of them.

He really doesn’t think they would appreciate him destroying another pair so soon after the last, however.

All he can smell is Sparrow. They flood his senses. Every part of him surges with a need to taste and touch and mark. He rests his chin just below their belly button. Peers up their body to meet their gaze. They drop a hand to his head, fingers curling in his hair. Scratching at his scalp. He hums, leans into the touch and they stay like that for a little bit. Buzzing with desire and want but content to quietly touch and breathe together.

And then they move their hips. Just enough to remind Mason that he does have a plan for this morning.

He rocks back onto his heels. Slides his fingers down their sides and slowly drags the hot pink fabric down their legs. He drops it to the ground beside the bed as he kneels down, carpet prickling at his bare skin but it’s fine. It’s not too much. Not with Sparrow around.

Gently, he reaches up to cup their waist and scoot them around until their legs hang off the bed. He grins at them. Plants a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to one thigh and then the other. Scrapes a fang down their skin until he gets to their knee where he sucks a mark. He flattens his palms against their thighs and nudges, throws them both over his shoulders.

They blink at him from the bed, eyes glassy. “I thought you didn’t go down easily?”

Mason chuckles, peers up at them from where he sits, caged by the soft flesh of their legs. “I don’t, sweetheart.”

And then he presses his mouth to the apex of their thighs.

Sparrow squeaks, hand convulsing in his hair before they relax. He hums against them, swirls his tongue around their clit. His thumbs run over the crease where their leg meets their body and they arch against him, a breathy moan slipping out from behind clenched teeth. The carpet scratching at his knees is quickly forgotten. All he can smell, all he can hear, is Sparrow. All of his senses hone in on them, focus only on them and their reactions.

He pays close attention to the way their hands pull at his hair when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. How their thighs tighten around his head when he presses in closer, works his tongue a little quicker. It’s been a while since he’s done this but it’s nice to know he hasn’t lost his touch, if they way Sparrow is rolling their hips against his face is any indication.

He drops a hand. Teases a finger along their folds before easing it into their pliant body.

“Shit, fuck,” they gasp. One of their hand slips, thumb resting across his forehead before they pull it back to grasp at their chest. “ _Mason_.”

The sound of them moaning his name, like it’s the only word in their vocabulary — like it’s all they want to say for the rest of their life — is going to be burned into his brain forever.

He pulls back. Kisses their thigh. Sucks another mark onto the soft skin while his finger pumps methodically.

“Alright?” He sounds wrecked and maybe he is.

Sparrow is biting their lip, watching him, and they nod frantically. “Very alright.” Their voice is strained.

Their body clenches around his finger and he slows his movements. A shiver races down his back as they whine, head falling back to the pillows behind them. He takes himself in hand, lazily drags his fingers over his cock as he watches them.

“Mason, please, please.” Their hips rock against his hand, desperate and wanton. “ _Please_.”

He nips at the skin of their stomach. “So polite Sparrow.”

It’s easy enough to move his hand, adjust the angle so his palm presses against their clit. Just enough to stimulate, not nearly enough to finish. It’s worth it when their back arches off the bed and their heels dig into his spine.

He strokes himself a little faster. Swipes his thumb over the head and twists his wrist a little on the downstroke.

“You’re such — such a bastard,” they say, the words strained and ragged.

“I could be, I don’t remember my parents.”

They freeze above him before they laugh, an arm thrown over their eyes. Mason grins and thinks, briefly, about how strange it is to be so at ease with them.

He takes pity then. Adds another finger and drops his mouth back down. The pace picks up. He knows how long he can toy with them, keep them right on the edge, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. Something within him shies away from that idea and he chooses not to look at it too hard just yet.

So he drags his tongue over their clit, speeds his fingers up, and presses closer until all his senses are drowned out by Sparrow.

_Sparrow, Sparrow, Sparrow._

They writhe on the bed, hips rolling against his face until they go bowstring taut. Their hands in his hair clench, tug just slightly as they come moaning his name. He keeps his mouth on them, works them through it with gentle licks and soft kisses until they collapse onto the bed. Boneless and sated.

Mason pulls away. Drops his head to their thigh and speeds his hand up. He’s so hard, so close and all he wants —

“Come on Mason.” Their voice is raspy. “Come, I know you want to.”

He groans, growls. Presses his teeth against the pliant flesh of their stomach until he gasps. Their name pours from his mouth as he finishes, his hand slowing and easing before he pushes too far into pain.

Every sense comes flying back to him at once. Not enough to overwhelm him, but enough to remind him that things exist outside of Sparrow and their bed and the heavy scent of sex in the air. He lifts the hand that had been buried in Sparrow’s body to his face and licks his fingers clean.

It’s worth it to watch their eyes widen and their mouth drop open a little.

And then they say, “Well, now I’m going to have to wash the comforter.”

Mason laughs, a real laugh not a huff of air or quiet chuckle. He kisses their stomach, their ribs. Crawls into bed and flops onto his back beside them.

“Worth it, you taste amazing,” he says, a cocky grin pulling at his face.

Sparrow swats at him playfully, eyes bright with mischief. He pulls them close, settles them on his chest, and takes a deep breath.

Something settles inside him, some little shifting piece that he didn’t even know was loose, and it feels good.

It feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [on tumblr](https://lvllns.tumblr.com) if y'all wanna come yell about vampires.


End file.
